


Carry On Dancing

by alifeasvivid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Confessions, Dancing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifeasvivid/pseuds/alifeasvivid
Summary: England finds himself in attendance at President Obama's first Inaugural Ball, contemplating the nature of dances such as this and also just how much he really wants to dance with America.Short, but fluffy.





	Carry On Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! I actually wrote this back in 2009 or so, when I first got into Hetalia, and it was posted in the LiveJounal USUK comm, so if you recognize it, that's why. I've been out of the USUK game for about... six years? Or so? but I recently found myself falling back into the arms of Alfred and Arthur, so to speak. Such lovely boys.
> 
> I'm working on a LOT of other NEW stuff for them, but I wanted to post this given the current political climate in the US (I'm American) and all, because I remember when I was writing this and just feeling SO SO hopeful for the future. I wanted to have that feeling back, if only momentarily.
> 
> If you remember it at all from before (wow, that was so long ago!), it's a little different now. I've improved upon it, I hope!
> 
> All that said, I really hope you enjoy!

England stands alone, off to the side of the dance floor at President Obama’s Inaugural Ball, contemplating how balls have changed since their advent and he can’t even really remember when that was. There is something... less meaningful about them now. All of the pomp and ritual that had once made balls such as this one supremely sensual affairs full of promise seems to have drained. There is no bowing, no fans, no secret smiles, no gentle, slow taking of hands.

But at least France is still France. He twirls woman after woman deftly about the dance floor, with little heed for others. As much as he generally dislikes France, England smiles. At least some things do not change.

His eyes drift to America instead. And why shouldn’t they? This is his night as much as it is Obama’s. There’s a stinging pain in his heart when he realizes just how much he wants America to ask him to dance, but knows he can’t... and probably wouldn’t even if he could.

President Bush did not allow France to dance with England at the last Inaugural Ball, and that had been mostly for a drunken laugh. England did not think that anything had changed so radically just yet, although it seemed silly to him. They are nations, not people, a dance is yet another reaffirmation of an alliance--nothing more, or so England tries to convince himself as America dances and laughs with a young woman, even going so far as to brush her hair back from her face.

He dances her around as deftly as France, but with much more care. That’s a surprise. For a moment, England can’t help but fondly recall his first attempts to teach America to dance. The boy hadn’t really caught onto it until the 1920’s and by then, England had had no idea who had taught him. The results of that teaching had been obvious enough back then, but since then, England had forgotten that America could be so light on his feet.

America will probably go home with that young woman tonight. Which is not uncommon. England has taken more than a few of his own citizens to bed in his time. He knows many other nations who have done the same. He knows from personal experience that each nation’s own citizens tend to respond very favorably to their advances, regardless of things like gender or political affiliation or anything really. America has been dancing with this particular woman for most of the night and England can see the blush staining her cheeks all the way from his chosen place at the edge of the dance floor.

He wants to look away, but can’t and then the woman whispers something in America’s ear, which makes England’s blood burn until America looks over at him, clearly confused. The woman leans up and kisses his cheek, pats his shoulder and walks away. A universal no, thank you.

America holds England’s gaze with something burning in those blue eyes that England isn’t sure how to interpret, but it’s almost too intense and he almost looks away, but then America’s face breaks into one of his signature wide, beaming grins.

He strides over to England, garnering a few stares from other attendees. He bows at the waist when he is before England, one arm tucked behind his back. He looks up at England over his glasses, trailing his other hand down England’s arm, slow and gentle, pulling England’s hand into his own as he reaches it. “Would you care to dance?” He murmurs softly, in that precise way that England had taught him to do oh so very long ago, though there’s an almost imperceptible quiver in it. Nervousness?

All of the blood in England’s body immediately rushes to his face. If he’d ever for one second thought back then that America would turn all that charm and formal etiquette on him, well…  ah, but he probably would have still taught him anyway. “Well- I- um- what about that rule?”

America stands up straight and slips his arm around England’s waist, “I have a new President now. Things are going to change,” he smiles an easy smile. “And besides, I’m not going to let anyone stop me from dancing with the man I love anymore.” America says it very casually, then gives England a pointed look so there’s no way he can mistake the meaning.

England’s green eyes widen. “Wh- but…?”

America leans in close, their noses inches apart. “I love you, _Arthur_.”

There are tears in England’s eyes, but he’d deny it later.

But before he can even reply, America is sweeping him onto the dance floor and into a quick and lively waltz. England is surprised when America doesn’t take the lead until it is apparent that England is not going to take it.

England smiles. Perhaps there is meaning in this ball after all.

America’s waltz has a lot flourish, England soon comes to realize. America twirls him, spins him out and back at every opportunity and when he dips the older nation, his lips are suspiciously close to England’s neck and England shivers, trying to keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks and... other places.

England is half worried that they’ll end up in one of those Hollywood-style circles in which everyone is staring at only them, but for all the wrong reasons.

Of course, it doesn’t happen. England notices a few people staring here and there, but with shock more than disgust. He looks up at America who just smiles more and doesn’t appear to notice the stares.

Two can play that game.

England stands up just a little straighter to breathe against America’s ear, “I love you, too.”

America looks like he wants to kiss England, but that would surely be considered inappropriate, so they simply carry on dancing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for now! Please comment and leave kudos if you liked it!


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